


A Debt of Honor

by TheGeekyLibrarian



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Older Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGeekyLibrarian/pseuds/TheGeekyLibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working closely with the financial elite has its drawbacks, especially when you work for someone as infamous as the Lannister Investment Group. As personal assistant to Tywin Lannister, Arya Stark is about to discover the dark side of the cut-throat world of finance. What happens when she finds herself between her boss and a would-be assassin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Debt of Honor

The office of Tywin Lannister was a vast expanse made up of exotic wood and marble, and every time she opened the double doors to slip inside she felt as if she was about to embark on a long walk through the desert without provisions. At first it had terrified her beyond words, but after a few days she had come to realize that it was all part of the design... Tywin Lannister's design, that was. 

As if his reputation wasn't already fearsome enough, the office of the Wall Street tycoon was made to make anyone who dared enter feel small, insignificant and unwelcome. Not a day had gone by yet when she hadn't questioned why she had even applied for, and much less taken this job. From the moment she first walked through the doors she had been an outcast, but she reminded herself that in the end, it was by choice. That she, Arya Stark, had chosen to be a wolf among lions.

That didn't change the fact that she had been surprised to actually get a job, let alone the job she held now, as Tywin Lannister's personal assistant. She had applied for an internship at the Lannister Investment Group almost as a joke, not expecting as much as a reply. She'd just been looking for an excuse, any excuse, to get out of her mother's shadow.

Arya knew that if she had asked, her mother would gladly have given her a job, and it probably would have been a better job, and a more pleasant experience, but...then she would still be poor, little fatherless Arya. She shuddered at the memory of the looks they had all given her after her father passed away. She was young, but she recognized pity when she saw it, and she knew that she didn't want it. She would much rather deal with the animosity of the other employees at Lannister, and even the humiliation that Tywin Lannister himself sometimes put her through, than the pity she received elsewhere. At least she could fight back against the humiliation and hatred, she could play at intrigues as the rest of them did, learn the game and defend herself. There was no defense against pity.

 

Her heels clicked a quick rythm on the hardwood floor as she made her way across the room. She had given up trying to walk silently, but it was a continuing struggle trying not to flinch when her steps seemed to echo through the room. She had understood that part of her job was to be invisible, to be present and arrange things as needed, while not attracting any attention to herself. She still had a way to go before she could make that part of her job merge seamlessly with the dress code she was now expected to keep to.

She had never been fashion forward, nor cared much for clothes and accessories at all, really... as long as it was whole, and kept most of her covered, she really didn't care what it looked like, which had earned her some snide remarks on her first day at work. But she was getting better, at least she thought she was. She didn't automatically trip if she had to navigate a set of stairs wearing her high-heeled work shoes, and she had also realized that you could come quite far with a white shirt and a well-fitted skirt. She had even pulled a set of pearl earrings out from the bottom of her jewelry box, and found that, for the first time they seemed to suit her. She also saw it as a good sign that her boss no longer greeted her with a raised eyebrow every morning; that had to mean she was doing something right.

 

It was early evening, and the sun had just set on the city skyline visible through the glass wall on the far end of the office. It was one of the most magnificent, most expensive views in the city, and Tywin Lannister sat with his back to it, facing the door. She still thought of the office as a wasteland, an elegant and expensively furnished wasteland, but a wasteland none the less. The only difference between now and her first day was that she now knew crossing it wasn’t going to kill her…or at least she hoped it wouldn’t.

His eyes are on her the moment she steps through the door, she can feel them although she is still too far away to make out his face clearly. She's a little surprised when he acknowledges her with a curt nod as she steps around the desk to hand over the files he requested. He doesn't normally bother with any kind of niceties, least of all when he's in a meeting with someone. Arya throws a brief glance at the representative from Martell Pharmaceuticals, an attractive man in his late thirties, dark skinned and dark haired, but his eyes shoot bolts of lightning across the desktop. A cautious second look at Tywin reveals that there is a silent battle going on, and although she is still fascinated by her employer's ability to strike fear into a man with a single glance, she knows better than to linger.

She grants herself one backwards glance, just as she opens the door to leave, and sees the two combatants cast in half shadow, only their silhouettes visible in the last few rays of the sun.

 

She sees one last file on her desk the moment her eyes re-adjust to the harsh light of the outer office, and curses under her breath. He _is_ going to kill her for this...

She grabs the file and quickly turns on her heel, heading back towards the office. As much as she doesn't want to go back in, she knows she has to. The consequences of not doing her job are too terrible to imagine, and outweigh the fear she has of being yelled at for not doing her job right.

She slips silently through the door, without knocking, and to her surprise she sees the younger of the two men turning to leave just as she enters. Knowing that she can't go back without sparking Mr. Lannister's suspicion, she keeps going, hoping that she looks purposeful enough.

Afterwards, Arya tried to think of what it was that had made her slow down when she met the dark-haired businessman halfway across the room. She wondered if it was the look in his eyes, piercing even in the half-light, or the way he moved with such sudden determination, but in the end she could not decide.

All she knew then was that there was something about this man that unnerved her, and she became very aware of his movements. It was as if everything turned into slow-motion, and she could see him reach into his jacket while his body performed a perfectly controlled 180 degree turn. Somehow she knew this was a bad thing before she even saw the gun in his hand. She registered that her boss rose from his seat, and from then on everything happened in a flash. Reacting in a heartbeat, she threw one arm out to disrupt his aim, just as he fired. The shot went off, and the sound it made sounded like an explosion, but she didn't register whether or not the bullet had made impact with its intended target, because the gunman went for her  with his other arm, while she, in turn, went for the gun. It didn't occur to her to be afraid, even when her opponent proved that he was much stronger than her. It was as if a force she did not know, nor recognized, spurred her on.

She isn't quick enough to grab the gun from his hand, her fingers slip, and her opponent uses the opening to hit her across the face with the butt of the firearm. The weight of the blow causes her to lose her footing and stumble backwards. Her hands break her fall, but the world is out of focus for a few moments, and when she recovers she's looking directly into the barrel. Only then does it occur to her that this might be her last moments alive. 

The thought of death feels alien, and she isn't quite sure how to react to it. So, she does nothing, simply stares at the man looming over her for what seems like a small eternity.

In reality, the moment is brief, and is interrupted when a third combatant makes his existence known. Tywin Lannister cuts an imposing figure in any situation, but now, angered and insulted, his appearance is fearsome. He wrenches the gun from the attacker's hand, but is prevented from turning the tables when the assassin decides to switch tactics. A punch to the face prevents Tywin Lannister from ending the threat quickly. The Martell assassin throws himself into the fight with relish, and Arya has to scramble backwards to avoid getting caught between them.

A few moments pass, and the sounds of grunts, curses and punches fade a little as she's finally able to get a grip on the situation. She watches the two men fight with morbid fascination. She had never thought that her boss could be quite so…physical. Arya knew from her very first day that she was working for one of the most dangerous men in the financial world. Countless rumors existed regarding the influence of the Lannisters, some had become so persistent that they were more like urban legends. She had never put much stock in rumors, but after seeing what her superior was capable of, she had started to think that some of the rumors surrounding the Lannister family might not be entirely unfounded.

She snaps back to reality as a particularly violent punch brings Tywin Lannister to his knees. He groans in agony, tries to get back on his feet, but is prevented when the younger man grabs a hold of his shirt with one hand, and lands another vicious blow with the other.

Arya feels fear creeping along her spine like a chill deep in her bones. If he murders Mr. Lannister, what is he going to do to her? She’s a witness, at the very least. At most, she realizes, she’s a Lannister ally. This means that if the intruder murders her boss, he’ll most likely kill her too, to keep her quiet. Her eyes find the gun, forgotten on the floor a few feet away, and a feeling she can’t quite place, but that feels a lot like determination, takes hold of her. She cautiously gets to her feet, and takes the two steps necessary to retrieve it. Looking up, neither of the fighters seem to have noticed. The gun feels warm in her hand, and unexpectedly heavy. She looks over at the two men again.

The first frenzy of the fight has died down. Tywin Lannister is back on his feet, bleeding and unsteady, but standing. The assassin appears to have taken about as much damage as he’s given out, and now the two of them circle each other, looking for an opportunity to finish off the other once and for all.

Martell is the one to break the standoff, throwing himself against his opponent with renewed strength. She doesn’t see the knife until it’s too late, and her cry of alarm does nothing to hinder the blade from plunging into Tywin Lannister’s shoulder.

The chill of fear mixes with determination, and she raises the gun, gripping it firmly with both hands. Her finger curls around the trigger, and she brings the weapon up on front of her, and aims. In a brief moment of hesitation she worries about shooting the wrong man, but then, in an instant, the perfect shot lines up in front of her, and the hesitation is gone. She fires, and the sound is like an explosion in her ears.

 

In the wake, there is deafening silence. Tywin Lannister slumps to the floor, breathing heavily. With a growl, he dislodges the knife from his shoulder with his free hand, and looks from her, to the body on the floor, and back, his expression unreadable.

The assassin lies stone dead on the floor, not three feet away from where the two of them are, blood spilled in a jagged halo around his head, pouring from a single wound to the side of the skull.

"Stark. Put the gun down."

His words doesn't register at first. She hears his voice, understands the words, but is somehow unable to string them together and make sense of them. She stands completely still, grasping the gun with both hands, staring wide eyed at the body on the floor.

"Arya!"

The sound of her name snaps her out of whatever limbo she was trapped in, and her eyes flicker around the room for a brief moment before focusing on her superior.

"Put the gun _down_."

Only then does Arya realize that she's still holding the gun poised to shoot. She slowly lowers her arms to her sides, and lets the gun slip through her fingers so it falls to the floor.  She remains standing as if frozen. She sees Tywin get up gingerly, his right hand covering a wound on his left shoulder. He disappears from view without another word, but after a few moments she can hear his voice, muffled as if he was far away. She registers that he's on the phone with someone, but her mind is still too preoccupied with the dead body in front of her to make sense of anything else.

The realization that she's killed someone begins to sink in. She has trained in self defense since she was old enough to convince her father it could be useful. But it was never about her survival, not really... it was a way to get out of having to take ballet classes with Sansa, a way to avoid making a fool out of herself in all the girly things that her sister seemed to excel at without even trying. It was never supposed to be about life and death.

And now she’s killed someone…The thought feels oddly liberating. Her mind begins to play back the events, from the moment she had entered the room to the moment her attacker had fallen to the floor, and she couldn't really bring herself to feel anything...certainly not remorse. He would have killed her, after he had killed Mr. Lannister; that much she was sure of. The dead man on the floor had been nothing to her the first time she had laid eyes on him, and he was nothing to her now. She took a deep breath, and threw one last glance at the body.

"Stark."

The voice was loud and clear, and sharp enough to cut through glass. That alone was enough to convince Arya that there would be hell to pay, one way or another. She turned swiftly on her heel, and was grateful that her voice sounded not much different than usual when she replied:

"Sir?"

She approached the desk with caution, vaguely remembering something her brother had once told her about wounded lions; but this time the old lion of Lannister doesn't seem so frightening to her. He sits uncharacteristically slouched in his chair, and his breathing is becoming ragged, although he tries his best to hide it. She sees the blood soaking through his jacket, as well as his shirt, and quickly makes up her mind. She turns again, ignoring the sound he makes in protest, and heads straight for the en suite. She's never actually been in there before, and only knows it exists having caught a glimpse of the half-opened door a few times, going to and fro. But now she tore open the door and rummaged through the cabinets, looking for something suitable to stem the flow of blood.

 

"They must be getting desperate," he breathes through gritted teeth, as she put more pressure on the wound.

"The last time, it was poison."

His words cause her to look up in shock, and for a moment her hand almost slips from his shoulder.

“The Martells tried to kill you before?!?” She hears her own voice ask, sounding far too stricken and girlish for her liking.

“You sound surprised…” He replies, with something that oddly enough resembles a smile. It lasts for only a split second, and looking back, Arya is unsure whether she saw it at all. His face turns into a grimace as she remembers what she's supposed to be doing, and presses her hand into his shoulder once again.

She is about to ask what he has done to make the Martells want him dead so badly, but the question dies on her lips when the door behind them is swung open so hard it smashes against the wall, and she sees the unmistakable silhouette of Ilyn Payne, the Lannister chief of security, in the doorway. He takes one look around the room, registers the dead body on the floor, and then heads straight for his boss.

"Has he been shot?"

"Stabbed."

She is once again surprised at how calm her voice sounds, and she looks up at Ilyn Payne defiantly from her position on the floor. Steel gray meets steel blue, and he surveys her for a moment from his vantage point, before saying curtly:

"The doc's going to be here any minute."

The words are a relief, but she knows better than to let it show. She nods once to indicate that she understood, and then focuses on Tywin again, noticing that he too seems to be watching her, as intently as the blood loss permits him to.

"Not a word about this." He says under his breath, as Ilyn Payne retreats to examine the room further.

"Understood." Arya replies, making her voice sound as ordinary as she can, as if he was giving her everyday instructions.

"To _anyone_." He adds, as if he wants to make sure she understood him correctly.

"Yes, sir." She looks up, and their eyes meet. For the briefest of moments, Arya thinks that the gold flecks in her employer’s eyes seem to glow in the half-light.

"Good girl." He nods, finally. Words that would sound like an insult coming from anyone else, somehow sounds like praise when coming from him. She's not quite sure how to respond, but soon finds that she does not have to. A sharp voice that she does not immediately recognize commands her to move, and when she turns, she finds that she's looking up at a strickt-looking woman in her mid-fifties. It dawns on her that this must be the doctor that Ilyn Payne mentioned, and she quickly moves aside to give her room.

Arya takes a few steps back, and suddenly realizes that she's quite forgotten to breathe. She inhales deeply, and exhales while looking around the room. Someone has lit a few of the lamps scattered across the space, and her eyes pick up on more details as they scan the surroundings. Two of Payne's men, both in plain clothes, were wrapping the body in plastic. Arya thought to herself that it looked like they had done it before, and felt oddly relieved that the fact disturbed her. Her eyes focused on the pool of blood left on the floor, glistening almost black in the yellow light, and again it felt as if her consciousness drifted outside of her body, torn out by the absurdity of the situation. The thought that she had committed murder appeared again and again, but it was as if it didn’t matter somehow, like she didn’t care.

The same sharp voice that had commanded her to move some minutes earlier pierced the dullness once again, but this time the words were not directed at her.

"I don't care what you want; you're going to the hospital."

Arya turned her head a little, and saw the doctor kneeling in her place with a look in her eyes that threatened to nail the man in front of her to the wall.

Tywin had straightened a little in his chair under the scrutiny, but even he didn’t manage to look dignified stripped of his jacket, his shirt unbuttoned to the navel, and his left shoulder covered by a bloody towel.

His voice was too low for her to perceive the words spoken, but the tone was unmistakable. The response it provoked, however, was one she had rarely heard.

"For god's sake man, you could be bleeding internally! I don't care about your pride, and I refuse to be responsible for this nonsense. Either you let me take you to a hospital to be examined _properly_ , or you're on your own.

Arya smiled despite herself. She had been surprised that Tywin Lannister's personal physician was a woman, and now she was even more surprised at how blunt said woman dared to be. The history between the two of them had to be a long one, Arya decided, because the only people she had ever seen even dare to question Tywin Lannister were his family, and even they were afraid to provoke him.

"Stark. Wipe that smile off your face."

She almost jumped when she realized that her boss was eyeing her with suspicion. In a split second she made her expression go blank, before meeting his gaze and uttering a polite

"Yes, sir."

The doctor glanced behind her at Arya, and the corners of her mouth quirked upwards into a gentle smile, before a frown appeared on her face, and she asked:

"Are you injured?"

Arya shook her head, very aware that she was under scrutiny from two forceful personalities.

"No...it's not my blood." She managed hesitantly, looking down at herself, seeing the red stains that marred her white shirt.

The next few seconds pass in silence, and Arya understood why the other woman is a force to be reckoned with. Vivid blue eyes seem to pierce her to the core, and only when they're satisfied do they let her go. She's relieved when the older woman looks back at Tywin, and says, in a voice that brokers no argument:

"So, which is it?"

 

Arya doesn't quite remember how she manages to get home that night. She remembers going back to the front room, getting her coat and buttoning it all the way up, even though it's really too warm for that. She remembers getting on the bus as usual, and getting off at her regular stop, but everything, every memory of the remainder of the night, is hazy, as if her mind is on autopilot.

She even manages to sleep, but she wakes before the alarm goes off the next morning, and for the first time since leaving the office the night before, she is unsure of what to do. For the first time, she thinks to herself that she would rather not see that room again, ever. But something deep in her gut tells her that it doesn't matter if she saved his life the night before, Tywin Lannister will still make her working life hell for however long he decides is enough if she doesn't show up for work as expected. So, in the end Arya bites back her apprehension, showers, puts on fresh clothes and does her makeup, almost managing to cover the bruise she sustained on her face the night before. She makes up convincing enough story should anyone ask, practices it a few times in front of the mirror, until it sounds right, and goes to work.

The office looks entirely different in daylight, and she squints a little against the brightness when she slips through the door, silent as usual. Once inside, she surveys the room carefully, looking for any trace of what happened there the previous night, but without finding anything. It didn't surprise her; she had come to realize better than most just how many resources, both legal and illegal, Tywin Lannister had at his disposal. The body of the Martell assassin was probably at the bottom of the East River, or somewhere else that it would never be found. She doubted that the Martells would let the matter drop, but it was difficult to prove foul play when the evidence had mysteriously disappeared.

Her train of thought stops abruptly when she becomes aware that she is being watched, and her eyes centered on the form of Tywin Lannister, seated behind his desk as usual.

"Stark." He greeted her cooly as she approached. Then, in a lower voice that sounded almost praising;

"I thought you might not show."

Arya threw her employer a sideways glance, but she could read nothing from his expression.

"Why wouldn't I?"

Her response caused him to look up from the paperwork in front of him and truly look at her. It was the kind of gaze that made Arya feel like she might as well have been stripped naked in a room full of people, and it was the kind of look usually worn by her superior when he prepared to dole out a severe punishment of some kind. She willed herself to stand completely still, and not break eye contact.

They stayed like that for a minute, neither of them speaking. Then, her boss seemed to make a decision, he opened a drawer in his desk and took out something that resembled a small notepad. Edging closer, Arya saw that it was, in fact, a checkbook. He scribbled something on the first sheet, then tore it off and pushed it across the desk towards her. She glanced down quickly, and saw that the number on the check was for a sum of money larger than she could really imagine. For a few moments Arya Stark stood speechless, looking at the check on the table. Then she looked up at her superior and, in a voice as calm as she could make it, she asked;

"Do I look like an assassin for hire?"

Tywin Lannister looked across the desk at his secretary, a wicked gleam suddenly appearing in his eyes.

"Yes. And a very effective one at that."

One corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a half smile, but Arya willed her expression to remain blank. After another moment he sighed, and placed a finger on the check to push it further towards her.

"Take the money, Stark. There are no strings attached."

"Liar."

His eyes narrow dangerously, but they are past the point of return now, and she refuses to back down.

"With all due respect, sir, I've seen how you do business. If I've learnt anything, it's that there's always strings attached, to something, someone, sometime, somewhere... I want no part in that."

Her reasoning is met with a snort, and a half-mumbled response.

"Damn the Starks and their honor..."

"Honor has nothing to do with it," Arya persists, even though she knows it's not quite true. But as she has learned, honor can be both selfless and selfish. A Lannister always pays his debts...but not all debts can be erased with money.

She knows she's toeing the line, and the look in her superior's eyes when they bore into her tells her that he knows that she knows.

"I don't like owing you a life debt, Miss Stark."

"Perhaps I prefer it that way, Mr. Lannister.”

Her voice sounds more confident than she really is, but she looks him straight in the eye, and now it is her turn to have a slight smile playing around her lips. Tywin Lannister remains silent for a moment, before answering her with a slight shake of his head:

"You are too smart for your own good, Stark. Has anyone ever told you that?"

 

  

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from, but the idea dropped into my head one night and wouldn't leave until I wrote it down, so here we are... I really just wanted Arya and Tywin together, there is something about their dynamic that I find incredibly fascinating. This started out as an intro to something bigger, but I think I'm going to leave it here as a oneshot for now.
> 
> Written for fun, not profit - all mistakes are mine.


End file.
